


Frozen Lips

by gladiatorAviator



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mute!Armin, could be read as eremins but also not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1877037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gladiatorAviator/pseuds/gladiatorAviator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“It’s probably just battle shock,” the nurse tells them, too rehearsed, too calmly. “It’ll wear off eventually. He’ll speak again.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frozen Lips

It's their first day of battle training. Of real training, Eren keeps telling Armin. Finally, their squad has been deemed proficient enough with the maneuver gear that they can begin practice with killing Titans. Many have dropped out beforehand, deemed too inept to handle the grueling conditioning. Eren had called them weak. Armin was determined not to join them.

The whirring and hissing of the gear fills Armin's ears as he flies through the air. He can see Eren on his right and Thomas on his left. _A good squad flies within eyesight from each other,_ Shadis has told them. _A just out of tandem reach, so you don't try to grapple the same place or have your blades get in the way of someone else._

They're all determined to get this right. Failure is not tolerated. The subsquad shifts directions as one, each used to the way the gear facilitates flight. Leather harnesses bite into skin. Thomas nearly loses his balance, but catches himself with a hiss of compressed gas. Armin looks at Eren, questioning him if he's seen anything. Eren gives a rough shake of his head. _Nothing yet._ They don't know how the models look; Shadis wanted to keep it a surprise, to keep them on their toes. If you could handle the stress of not knowing what your enemy looks like, if and when they'll appear, you would survive longer than most.

Except Eren and Armin know what they're enemy looks like. They know what they're up against. Eren has turned that knowledge into unwavering determination. He knows what to expect. He knows what to do.

Armin's still not sure.

Eren is all harsh lines and sharp edges. He's able to think like a soldier, act like a soldier. All of the cadets in some way have hardened themselves; each contain a sharper edge or harsh lines on their faces. Except Armin. He's full of a gentle roundness and soft curves, never able to match up to the regular cadets. He may be good at the theory, but on the field, theory isn't what keeps people alive. It's the ability to fight, the ability to use sharp edges and harsh lines in order to kill and protect. There's no place for softness and curves on the field, and Armin knows that.

He's still amazed he's made it this far.

There's a harsh clang as a grapple misses its target, flying erratically away from a hard surface. Armin twists in the air, stomach lurching as he falls to the ground. He sees a shadow to his left. Tall. Massive, even. He hits the ground hard, gasping as his breath escapes him. His vision swims and he feels warm blood run down his temple. Armin blinks, trying to get the fuzziness out of his head. It’s not working. He hears his name, muted. Like cotton has been stuffed in his ears. Quietly groaning in pain, Armin looks up.

He meets the gaze of a monster. A wide grin, looming above him. Thin eyes, seeking out prey. The neck looks overly padded, _who would be able to cut the padded neck of a Titan?_ Armin’s mind screams at him. He scrambles backward on all fours, but still manages to trip. This is how they died, yeah? How his parents, his grandfather, Eren’s mother, caught between the face of a monster and an inability to run.

Armin screams his throat raw, and passes out.

\---

“Will he be okay?” Eren asks the nurse as she walks outside the hospital wing. There was blood, there was so much blood, a reverse leafing of red on gold. Red, like the sunset outside the open window. The wind is cold, too cold, for this night. The dying sun brings its head below the horizon, the clouds red, red, red. Mikasa grabs his hand, keeping him in the _now._

“He’s all patched up and should be fine in a few days.” Eren nearly misses the nurse’s response. Eren tows Mikasa through the door, searching for his friend amid the sterile white and hollow brown of the room. His gaze lands on him, a pallid off-white and sunshine golden figure wrapped in the comfort of a soft blanket and scratchy bandages. There’s still some rusty brown peeking out on the bandage beneath his hair. The window next to him is closed, and Eren suddenly finds the room too hot and stuffy. Confined. Claustrophobic. He’s back, for a few seconds, in the shrinking alleyways in Wall Rose, sleeping in empty flour barrels rotting behind old, forgotten houses. _Armin doesn’t belong here,_ he thinks, opening the window a tad as he sits by his bedside. Cool air flows over them.

Armin turns to face them, but doesn’t say a word. Mikasa asks if he’s doing okay. He stills for a second, and nods. Eren takes his hand, rubbing small circles on his palm. “I should have done better as a squad leader. I should have been keeping better watch. I’m so sorry.”

Armin looks away; it was his fault for sliding out, for mistaking a practice dummy for the real thing.

The nurse comes up behind them, asks a few questions to Armin about his health, to which he either nods or shakes his head. _Feeling better?_ He nods. _Think you can continue training tomorrow?_ Armin pauses, then shakes his head. _You should get some rest soon. Staying up late won’t help you heal faster._ Armin’s lip creases to a small line, but he nods anyway. The nurse shoos Eren and Mikasa out, claiming their time is up and patients need their sleep. They protest in vain. The nurse closes the door behind her, then turns to look at them.

Eren sees through the facade; her eyes are heavy with a knowledge of something terrible. Amber light wavers as she tells them Armin hasn’t spoken ever since he woke up hours ago. “It’s probably just battle shock,” the nurse tells them, too rehearsed, too calmly. “It’ll wear off eventually. He’ll speak again.”

They nod, hoping that her words are true.

\----

Nobody has heard Armin speak for weeks now.

 _He’s weak,_ Eren hears people sneer just above his hearing threshold as he walks by. _Never was fit for real battle._ A good squad wouldn’t have a kid that doesn’t speak. Why hasn’t he left to the fields where he belongs? 

Armin roughly shoulders past them, hands clasped around his books like a shield, like a lifeline. It’s their break time today, a whole hour devoted to themselves. Armin avoids everyone, unable to face the people he has failed. He finds a secret place, a new one every day that Eren and Mikasa can never seem to find on time, and reads about heretical things, about the lands beyond the walls. A faraway dream on an endless plane. He cries quietly to himself, without a single sound escaping from his lips. He can’t speak. All the words get turned on their heads and thrown back at him like knives. What good is it to speak if there’s nothing to contribute? He’s not meant for fighting, and fighting is the only thing that matters here.

Better to lock himself away and throw away the key.

Armin starts as a hand closes around his bony wrist. He’s been found out. “Are you okay?” Eren asks softly, too softly. _There’s no softness here in the military,_ Armin wants to say. His mouth can’t form the words. His mouth can’t seem to form any words, now. Dry lips crack as Armin purses them, then in a moment of selfishness, shakes his head no. Eren pulls him out from beneath the supply cabinets, and wraps his arms around him. “Please, just tell me what’s wrong,” Eren breathes into Armin’s shoulder. Armin shakes his head. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t get the words out before they die in his throat. Tears squeeze out of his eyes, and he holds Eren a little tighter.

Eren pulls the book from beneath Armin’s hand and reads to him. He stumbles over the bigger words, sometimes intentionally, hoping that Armin will speak up and correct him.

He doesn’t.

Eventually, their hour of freedom is up, and Eren closes the well-loved book. He quietly picks Armin off the ground, and holds his hand the whole journey to their next session. He’s rubbing circles in his palms and feels knobby bone beneath. It’s a feeling Eren has been accustomed to, the feeling of a fragile skeleton beneath a barely solid blanket of flesh. He had hoped to never feel this again on Armin. They were in the military, they didn’t have to worry about finding food to survive.

Eren makes a note to himself to make sure Armin is eating properly.

\----

Eren can barely remember Armin’s voice. The trainees of the 104th don’t believe it when Eren tells them Armin has the most angelic voice. It sings without singing. It’s so beautiful, no one could ever want to hurt someone with a voice so delicate, so glorious. He could fall asleep to that voice. He could fight to that voice. It rises and falls, telling out a story that could never be the same without him telling it. His laugh is the most beautiful thing they would ever hear. It would twist in the air, playing with the wind, a heavenly sound above the rough guffaws and snorts of the other trainees.

They scoff, but inwardly, they wonder if maybe Eren is right. Armin’s still full of round curves, of soft edges, perhaps his voice would reflect the quiet knowledge hidden beneath golden spun hair and frosty blue eyes. Down the line, they all nod quietly to one another after Eren leaves. The harsh words stop from their squad. They regard him with a stoic sadness, akin to the way Eren’s eyes dart over Armin’s figure when he’s alone. Some try to speak to him, but give up when the conversation feels too fake, too one-sided to be real. Others pat him on the back, congratulating him when he does a maneuver well, when he doesn’t fall flat on his face in hand-to-hand combat, when he gets top marks in the theoretical classes.

Armin just pulls his lips back and gives a fake smile, then rolls his shoulders inward and walks away. There is no room for softness in the military. It’s all a ploy, they all just want to run him into the ground later on. Dirt in his hair, blood on his lips, hands on cold, cracked stone. Armin rubs a hand on his shoulder. It never healed up properly, when it was dislocated that one time the bullies from Shiganshina rammed him into the wall at an awkward angle, then threw him back on the ground. The bones grind together, popping as he lifts his arm to the air. He licks his lips. They are always so dry in this heat, even at this late hour.

The sky is dark, dark like Armin’s eyes. Eren wants to believe he can still find those dim constellations in his eyes, but they all have winked themselves to nonexistence. Armin’s eyes are heavy and dull, a darkened moon without any stars left for light. Eren asks him again, if he’s feeling okay, as they head to their bunks. There’s no answer. Mikasa joins him, her brow exhibiting a permanent crease whenever she joins Armin. She told Eren, one day, that she was coming close to giving up on hearing Armin’s voice ever again.

Some days, Eren finds himself agreeing with her.

Armin climbs into his bunk, surrounding himself with his blankets. Eren helps to tug a loose blanket end in place when it falls off of Armin’s shoulder. Armin leans up against him, a small weight seeking comfort against Eren’s robust frame.

Eren grabs a book to read, lighting a stubby candle beside the bed. The other trainees gather into the room, either sitting in their own bunks or laying on the wooden ground as Eren reads to Armin. The squad understands Eren’s unwavering devotion to keep Armin safe and sound, and with that, comes reading to him at night. They listen to the stories Eren has heard hundreds of times from Armin’s mouth. He still can’t get the delicate voice of the princess and the rough rumbling of the dragon right. He can’t read out stories about faraway lands without the same excitement Armin has. The words tumble out of Eren’s mouth, some getting entangled within one another as they leave his throat. He stumbles over some words, sometimes having to consult Mikasa for the proper pronunciation. Everyone knows Eren isn’t the best reader. Everyone has heard stories about how great Armin was at telling a proper story. They still keep quiet as Eren reads, however.

Eren’s reading from a different book tonight, one he’s never read from before. There’s stories about animals getting into trouble, of children finding great treasures, of grand explorations across the land, of magical findings of new worlds. He’s having a tough time sounding out some of the words, and Mikasa leans on Eren’s open shoulder as she puzzles her way through the pronunciation. He eventually makes his way through tonight’s tale, and everyone opens up their throats to exchange different folktales and stories of their provinces.

It’s in the middle of Mikasa’s tale of an obviously fabricated grand hyperbole given in a flatline tone and a serious face that Eren feels Armin shudder on his shoulder. Eren thinks he hears a sound coming from him, but he’s been wrong before, hasn’t he? Mikasa pauses for a second as Eren shifts his weight to look at Armin. She carefully continues, watching, waiting for Armin to maybe, finally, open his mouth and have sound come out. Armin shudders harder, and pulls the blanket tighter around himself.

Anticipation is in the eyes of all the cadets as they all warily eye Armin. “He hasn’t spoken now, what makes you think he will tonight?” Ymir quietly nudges Christa, and Jean beside her curls inward on himself. They go back to watching Mikasa as she approaches the climax of her story.

There’s a quiet sound coming from the blankets curled up on the bunk. Mikasa abruptly stops. It couldn’t be, could it? Eren’s eyes grow wide, and they meet Mikasa’s, sharing the same look. Each of the cadets lean forward, not believing their ears. The sound grows louder, it hurls itself into the stuffy air of the bunker.

 _Armin’s laughing._ It’s husky from disuse, it’s more gravelly than what Eren and Mikasa are used to, but it’s _his._ Armin’s laugh, it starts out soft, punctuated with a cough of scratchy air against disused vocal chords. It turns into a sweeping chorus, a beautiful weave of angelic tones. Ethereal. Like the magic of fairies they were reading about.

“You’re lying, Mikasa” Armin coughs out between fits of contagious laughter, “you know that Eren was the one that did that while you watched, stunned at his sheer stupidity.” Eren cries out and swings his arms around Armin, tears flowing from his eyes. _Armin’s back, Armin’s truly back!_

Mikasa laughs and joins Eren in the hug. Her face is already wet with tears. The cadets are laughing along, some with tears in their eyes, too. They all join into the throng clustered around Armin as he keeps laughing. It’s the most beautiful thing they have ever heard.

“I thought we lost you,” Eren whispers into Armin’s shoulder. He’s holding tight with no intention of letting go. He’s not losing Armin again.

Armin’s laughter dies down. He clenches the edges of Eren and Mikasa’s arms wrapped around him. “I’m sorry,” he says. There’s a spot on his blanket that Eren’s tears are staining. Armin brushes his hand through Eren’s hair. Mikasa jumps off the bunk, scrambling to her knees as she pulls up the broken floorboard. Armin’s book is hidden there, the one about the outside world. She takes it out, and thrusts it in Armin’s direction.

“Eren is absolutely terrible at reading this one,” she says as Armin reverently takes the book in his hands. “Would you please read to us?”

Armin smiles and opens the book, leafing across well-worn pages. “Of course.”

The cadets each take to their places, excited whispering among them as Armin reads to them. They’ll be exhausted in the morning--Shadis won’t be happy--but the time spent late that night is well worth it as they each eventually nod off to the sweet sonorous music of Armin’s voice.


End file.
